Lark (Sally Watson Family Tree Series)

by Sally Watson

  It was certainly a lovely day. James kept forgetting the problem which faced him, because it was surprisingly pleasant just talking to Lark. They discovered many tastes in common, such as singing and horses and a great interest in seeing new places and people. They even managed to talk a great deal about their own lives without giving away anything important like last names. For James still had no mind to burden Lark with any knowledge that might be dangerous, and Lark meant to give James no chance to send her back for her own safety.

  “When you’re being a Puritan and a tinker,” inquired Lark presently, “do you talk the same way you are now? Because I should think people would know you were upper class and Cambridge educated and a Cavalier the minute you said two words.”

  “Oh, no,” said James, lapsing into West Country dialect. “Ye see, oi can speak Devon rarely good, look see. Still, Devon do be mostly loyal to king, so,” he switched to Yorkshire speech. “So most times, tha see’st, I be a lad fro’ th’ north, an’—” He broke off, for an alarming thought had come to him. “What a dolt I am!” he exclaimed. “Your speech, Lark! It’s a miracle it hasn’t given us away before now! I’m afraid you’re going to have to be deaf and dumb or something.”

  Lark grinned at him. Not for nothing had she lived two years in Hampshire County. “As folk do say, I mid be one of they foreigners, but not sich a girt one as I were two year gone,” she said in her cousins’ very tones.

  James chuckled, but shook his head. “I can’t do Hampshire well enough, and you can’t do Yorkshire. We can’t be brother and sister, after all—unless—I know! You have already been living with dear Aunt Prudence, whom we have just moved back to Lyndhurst, and I’m just fetching you home again, for what with sisters Faith, Truth, and Purity all married and away, Mother needs you.”

  “All right,” agreed Lark, and they laughed together.

  At dusk they came to the Blue Dolphin, an inn which James knew, for the host was a secret Royalist and the inn a meeting place and center for messages. Lark stared around with interest as they entered the courtyard, for she had been in an inn only once in her life. A faded blue sign, clearly meant to be a very happy dolphin whisking his tail, swung on an iron rod over the front door. The oaken timbers were almost black with age, and the windows were set deeply into both sides of the heavy door, with the windows of the upstairs rooms set out slightly overhead.

  Lark had vaguely expected something a trifle grander in an inn friendly to Royalists, and she was surprised when they stepped through the doorway to find a very plain place indeed. It was darkish, lit only by a few candles which guttered in the draft from the open door, and the orange glow from the huge stone fireplace at the far end. Tables and benches were of solid oak, battered with use, and the men sitting at them were all clad as soberly as Uncle Jeremiah. Lark glanced inquiringly at James, who hastily put a brotherly arm over her shoulders and dug in his fingers in a way that clearly meant for her to keep her mouth shut and her face blank.

  At least James hoped that it clearly meant that. For it dawned on him in that instant that he had forgotten to give Lark a very important warning. He should have told her that Royalist sympathies must be kept well underground, for it was highly likely that even here some of the guests were Puritans of the crusading sort, looking around for any hints of a Royalist plot. He squeezed her arm once more, to make the warning more clear, and turned to smile politely at his old friend Walter Hetherington, the host of the inn.

  Walter gave him the polite greeting of a stranger, and James followed suit. “Good even, Sir,” he said awkwardly. “Ah wonder if tha mought spare a quiet corner for ma wee small sister and masel’ for the night.”

  Only in his eyes did Walter show surprise at James’s companion. But before he could answer, one of the grayclad men at the nearest table spoke up. “What are you thinking of, young man, to bring a little maid into a public tavern?”

  James pulled Lark more firmly and protectively to his side, and turned a troubled and apologetic face to his questioner. “It do be no choice of ma own, sir,” he explained, “but a matter, tha see’st, of in here or wi’ no roof at all, for we do have a bit of a journey yet to get home.”

  “This is a respectable, God-fearing inn,” broke in Walter firmly. “I can find you a quiet corner, young man, and your sister will be quite safe. I do not permit even words which might be unsuitable for innocent ears.” He led them to a small table at the far end near the fireplace while James, for the benefit of listening ears, told their little story about Aunt Prudence and the married sisters, and Lark contributed her bit by staring about her with very round eyes.

  A savory-smelling haunch of mutton basted on a spit over the fire, turned by a small urchin with a red face. There was also goose pie and roasted carp and a bowl of tansy, clearly made from the freshest eggs and the richest cream. Lark gazed at them with wistful eyes, and James longed to order the best meal in the house for his perpetually hungry small companion, who was really a very good sport about shortened rations. But such a meal would never fit in with his story, so he contented himself with bread and meat. In any case, he knew Walter would quietly fill his pouch with good food during the night, and he wished he could tell that to Lark.

  Lark didn’t know that James was reading her mind. She would not have dreamed of suggesting expensive food. As it was, she felt uncomfortable to have James paying for her meal, for it didn’t seem right, and she was afraid he might have to go hungry later on her account. She determined to eat very little—but in this she failed entirely. It was so good, and both James and the host kept filling up her plate.

  When they had finished eating, Master Hetherington took Lark to a little nook under the stairs with just enough room for a narrow pallet, and told her that it was her bedroom for the night. James would have a pallet just in front of the nook, and she would be quite safe.

  Lark smiled at them both, lay down, and went to sleep almost immediately, for she had not had much sleep the night before, and she was very tired. But she did notice a look that passed between James and the host, and she had just enough time before falling asleep to decide that it was no accident that they had stopped here. James and Master Hetherington clearly knew each other, and were probably working together for the king. Of course she must not let James (know that she knew this, for it would doubtless upset him.

  When she awoke, daylight was coming in through the diamond-shaped windows and falling rather weakly across the tables—the glass being quite thick and of a faintly greenish tint. James was gone from his pallet, the small boy with the red face was turning the spit just as if he had never left off, and two or three men, yawning a little, were seated at the tables near the front.

  Lark stretched, straightened her dress, which was getting quite wrinkled, and scratched vigorously. James’s friend might be a good Royalist, she decided, but he ought to change the straw in the pallets more often. She took out her comb, unplaited her hair, and began to work on the tangles. She wasn’t worried about James. It never even occurred to her that he would have gone off and left her. He was no doubt talking to Master Hetherington about important matters.

  She had just got her hair combed into a long silken waterfall which nearly covered her completely from the hips up, when there was an alarming jingling and clatter from the road outside. A voice shouted an order, and the clatter turned into the courtyard of the Blue Dolphin. Lark paled a little. She knew that sound. She had heard it almost exactly the same way on the day that Uncle Jeremiah had brought his troops to her father’s house in Oxford.

  She jumped to her feet and peered out of her little nook just as the door was flung open and a group of soldiers stamped in, led by a very grim-faced sergeant. For some reason all the soldiers in Cromwell’s army seemed to stamp and scowl and roar. They seemed to feel that it proved something or other about being Godly and Sober and In A State Of Grace.

  “Search the place. Back rooms first. No one is to leave!” ordered the sergeant, and then turned to
bawl to some other soldiers outside that if they let anyone escape through the back he’d hang the negligent ones. Lark shrank back into her nook, very badly frightened. Where was James? What would happen to them both? Were the Roundheads hunting James in particular, or just Royalists in general, or something else? Would it help things any if she were to escape notice, or would it be worse if they found her hiding? For the moment it seemed best to stay out of sight if possible.

  There was a certain amount of uproar going on in the back of the inn, and presently some of the soldiers returned triumphantly with James and Master Hetherington held firmly between them. “We found these two in one of the back storerooms,” they announced. “What would they be doing there if they weren’t plotting in secret?”

  James, even while arranging his face into bewildered innocence, felt his heart sink. They had indeed been caught plotting, and even though nothing had been overheard, the mere possibility of guilt was quite enough these days. He was afraid they couldn’t talk their way out of it. And what would happen to poor little Lark, whom he passionately hoped was still hidden in her dark alcove under the stairs? Beside him, he felt Walter’s dismay, and heard him speak up in injured defense.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he declared, alarm and indignation in just the right proportions in his voice. “I’m Walter Hetherington, landlord here, and this is a respectable, God-fearing inn, and I can’t think what I’ve done wrong. There be no law against letting a lad into the back to see could he do some chores.”

  “Ah suppose it were ma fault,” broke in James humbly. “Ah did nobbut ask could ah do a bit o’ work, happen like, to pay for part o’ food an’ lodging, and he kind enow to say ah maught try.”

  The sergeant shook his head. “We’ve had reports about this place,” he said stubbornly. “A rat’s nest of Royalists, with their Devil’s plots. I don’t believe you, and I’m taking you both along for questioning.”

  From her dark alcove, Lark saw clearly that suspicion was as good as proof, and that James was lost, unless . . .

  Barely giving herself time to remember her Hampshire dialect, she acted. A small brown figure with streaming hair burst forth from under the stairs, darted under the startled nose of the sergeant, and hurled itself, weeping, upon the dismayed James.

  “Oh, brother, brother!” it wailed. “Oh, sir,” she appealed to the sergeant, “you do look to be a man of God. Please don’t take my brother away, for Mother do be waiting for us, and whatever mid I do without him?”

  “Eh?” said the sergeant in great confusion. He looked at the small face, the round terrified eyes in the midst of hair that reminded him somewhat of his own eight-year-old, and his conviction began to waver.

  “It be nobbut truth, sir,” said James, recovering his wits and pulling Lark’s head gently against his chest, where she wept most convincingly. “Ah do be bringing ma wee sister back home to Mother, and us stopped here last night because tha see’st it were growing dark, and her young and tender, an’ ah were wishing to save ma siller for t’ trip ahead, not wanting ma mother to think me a gormless lad, so ah just askit the landlord here could ah be at a bit o’ work, like ah telled thee, and—”

  The sergeant silenced him with a gesture. There was a bit of quiet, broken only by Lark’s muffled sobs. Walter, knowing a superior act when he saw one, remained silent. The sergeant considered the matter, scowling darkly. It was clear to him that he had missed his prey, for no sane plotter would take a little girl along with him. He looked at his men, who, hardened soldiers that they were, were plainly in sympathy with the pitiful little maid.

  “All right, all right,” he growled. “Tell your sister to stop her crying, and get on your way. As for you—” He turned to Walter. “I’ll just take you along to talk to the Captain, anyway. And these others, too.” He indicated the other guests of the inn, who had also been encircled by the soldiers and were standing in the middle of the room looking sour. “Now on your way, boy, before I change my mind.”

  They went, not even stopping to braid Lark’s hair—which, Lark suspected, probably made her look more young and helpless when it was loose, anyway. James did manage to catch Walter’s eye once, and was reassured by the very faintest of nods, indicating that he could be most useful by his absence.

  Lark was astonishingly calm once they were out from under the Roundheads’ eyes, and James looked down at her with awe and a little uneasiness. Either she was frighteningly self-possessed, or else she was being much too quiet for her own good.

  Two or three miles further along the road, they found a secluded grove beside a stream, down a bank, and well hidden from passers-by. And at this point Lark’s legs, finding that they were no longer required to carry her away from danger, apparently resigned from her body. She sank down on the long grass and began to giggle on a high-pitched note that was quite unlike herself.

  James knew at once what was happening. He had half expected it. Seizing her shoulders not too gently, he shook her until she stopped laughing and began to sob. He dunked her face in the cool stream, and then he let her put her head on his knee and cry for a while. When she raised it and demanded food, he decided quite accurately that she was herself again, and they had a very much delayed breakfast from the food that Walter had put in James’s pack before the trouble began.

  “What will happen to him?” Lark asked anxiously. It seemed rather dreadful of them just to have left, with Walter still a prisoner.

  “Nothing, I think,” said James, who had been turning it over in his mind. “With me out of the picture, they haven’t even a very good suspicion left, and those other customers were all really Roundheads as far as I know. Even if some of them were spies, they couldn’t have seen or heard a thing that was suspicious. Of course, Walter will have to be especially careful for a while—” He stopped, realizing that he was saying far too much. He glanced anxiously at his small companion, busy braiding her hair, one corner of a pink tongue showing between her lips.

  Lark looked back at him.

  “I’m glad he’ll be all right,” she said artlessly. “People shouldn’t be punished for just what they think, should they?”

  James sighed in relief, and then looked at her sharply. He was beginning to wonder how a little girl could be so astonishingly astute in some things and so conveniently obtuse in others.

  6

  The Wood

  On and on they trudged, sleeping in the open at night, well wrapped in cloaks. For this seemed safer than inns, and the nights were balmy and beautiful and glittering with stars. They heard no more about the two armies to the north, and James began to be more and more silent. His brown eyes were somber much of the time, and Lark, peering up at him, began to suspect quite accurately that he was finding her a burden. While he could not really bring himself to wish she had never been born, or even that he had not come to her rescue that day by the river bank, he did feel that she had timed her escapade very badly, that she was incredibly stubborn and he incredibly weak-willed, and that it was perfectly ridiculous for her to keep the upper hand this way. He glared at her.

  Lark didn’t miss the glare, and she had a very shrewd notion about what sort of thoughts caused it. She looked helpless and vulnerable with all her might, but James failed to notice. So she sighed and took the offensive again.

  “James?” she asked in a small, thoughtful voice.

  “Mm?” said James, engrossed in his dark thoughts.

  “James, I was just wondering. What if I hadn’t been at the Blue Dolphin that morning? I mean, what if you hadn’t had a little sister crying and hanging around you when the Roundheads were going to carry you off?” She glanced at him sideways to see how he was responding to this, and noticed with satisfaction that he had got the point at once. He was really very quick-witted, in addition to being a hero, she decided, lowering her eyes demurely.

  James began mentally kicking himself. It was true; she had saved his liberty if not his life, and he, monster of ingratitud
e, was busy wishing her a hundred miles away. And she must sense it, too, sensitive little creature that she was.

  “Silly little Lark!” he jibed gently, warming her with his particularly sweet smile. “Of course, there may be some people who wouldn’t consider my life worth saving, but since I’m very much attached to it—” He broke off, remembering that she should not know too much. “At least,” he finished lamely, “you saved me a good bit of unpleasantness and delay at the very least, and I don’t suppose I can ever tell you—” Once again he broke off, for there were too many things he could not say. He hoped she understood a little.

  Lark, who understood very well the important fact that he had really been in considerable danger, stared down at the rumpled cloth of her skirt. It was a frightening thought that he might have been hanged or something. In addition it rather changed things. James became at once more precious and less godlike. He was not, after all, in full command of all situations, and now the dangers of their journey seemed a great deal more real.

  James perceived her mood and seized the opportunity. “Now do you see what I mean, Lark? That was just a small incident compared to what it might have been if the sergeant hadn’t been more reasonable than some Roundheads. And we still haven’t run into any robbers or Gypsies, or a really tough soldier, or even a storm, or anything serious at all. Can’t you see that it’s quite mad to think of going to Scotland? By the way, where in Scotland were you intending to go, anyway?”

  “Well, it’s somewhere in Cameron country,” Lark told him in a subdued voice.

  “Cameron country!” James clutched his dark waving hair and rolled his eyes upward. “Cameron country!” he told the sky in despair. “Merciful heavens, send her a whole troop of guardian angels; one isn’t nearly enough! My poor idiot Lark, do you know where Cameron country is? It’s way up in the wilds of the Highlands! It’s filled with the most terrifying steep and jagged mountains, such as you can’t even begin to imagine, and wild savages, and clan wars, and raging torrents, and miles and miles of wilderness with no houses or people or roads. You can’t do it, Lark. You can’t begin to think of doing it. I wouldn’t do it myself.”